The Lawman Meets His Bride. Meagan McKinney
He hardly knew the woman, but something about her made him believe she could be a strong ally if he could somehow win her trust.
Something else suddenly occurred to him, and a prickle of alarm moved down his spine.
“Do you have a road map of Montana?” he demanded.
“In the glovebox, I think. But we won’t need it. I’ve driven to Billings plenty of times.”
“Yeah, on the interstate,” he replied as he opened the accordion folds of the map. “But do you know the back roads?”
“You mean all the way to Billings? No. Why take back roads? We aren’t in your car.”
He flicked on the dome light to study the map. “I just realized there’ll probably be an APB out on me. Checkpoints will be set up along the main routes. I can’t risk it.”
“You really think it’s that important to the police?”
“You kidding? I fired on federal agents. They’ll raise six sorts of hell.”
“You fired at them?”
“What, you think they shot me because they don’t like my face?”
“You didn’t tell me…I mean….”
She trailed off, too taken aback to speak. He could feel a new level of tension in the Jeep.
“If it makes any difference,” he told her, “I didn’t exactly fire at them. I fired deliberately high to miss them.”
While the overhead light was on, he felt her glance keep touching him, then quickly sliding away. Even mired in pain and worry, he couldn’t help appreciating her good looks. Understandably, this latest revelation had left her somewhat whey-faced. But she had stunning amber eyes and medium-length hair the color of burnt sienna. The only feature even slightly out of harmony with the serenity of her face were her somewhat witchy eyebrows. But he liked them. Liked them a lot. She was the kind of woman who looked liked she could play angel or devil depending on her mood. In truth, if they’d met under any other circumstances, he’d have let her known without a doubt he was attracted to her.
But he had other worries now. Big ones. He quickly worked out a route, along secondary roads, that would be safer but considerably longer. He turned the light out just before Old Mill Road—smooth blacktop now—leveled out on the floor of Mystery Valley.
“Just go on past the interstate,” he directed her. “Take County Line Road east.”
He sat back in the seat and allowed his ruminations to turn toward the situation at hand. Despite all that had happened to him, Quinn couldn’t really say he was surprised by what Schrader and Whitaker were up to. They were corrupt, and greed was a powerful motivator.
He wasn’t sure, however, about prosecutor Dolph Merriday. True, the man had real facility with a cliché—scratch a federal prosecutor and you’ll find an ambitious politician. But something bothered Quinn about the man. Above all, prosecutors were negotiators. But his unyielding stance…
Constance Adams abruptly interrupted his ruminations.
“Mr. Loudon?” She looked at him from the wheel, hesitating, thinking, her pretty lips curved down. “If—if your story is true, then I know you don’t want to become a real criminal by kidnapping me. There’s a state-trooper post ahead at Oxbow. You can turn yourself in there, and if you do, I promise you I’ll press no charges. We’ll call this a lift.”
He greeted her suggestion with a harsh bark of laughter. “And will you give me a lollipop, too, Miss Goody Two-Shoes?”
After that dig, he could almost whiff the anger coming off her.
“Why is it such a joke?” she demanded. “You could avoid kidnapping charges—”
“I can’t,” he cut her off tersely. “You’ve watched too many crime shows on TV where crusading lawyers always ensure that justice prevails. In real life innocent people are framed all the time.”
“So your rights are more important than mine, is that it? Why should I be victimized because you supposedly were?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, that’s why. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut when you saw that blood on the floor. The unlocked shutter didn’t give me away—the blood did. Once I knew you’d seen it, I also knew you’d report me.”
“I see. I’m being punished for showing a little concern.”
“I don’t want to punish you.” The truth of his words stabbed him and forced him to grow silent. With difficulty, he added, “But things are the way they are, that’s all. Now just shut up and drive.”
“Please let me stop at Oxbow,” she repeated, her voice pleading. “I know you don’t want to become a common criminal.”
“Look,” he answered harshly, his patience worn by the pain of his leg, and the pain in his soul, “I’ll keep it to a simple command—shut your damned mouth and drive.”
He noticed she had been checking her watch every few minutes. She did so again now.
“Got a hot date?” he asked her.
“What if I did? Doesn’t really matter, does it? My time is yours now—gun man,” she added pointedly.
Her words cut far deeper than she realized.
He sank farther down into the seat and morosely surveyed the situation. Ms. Constance Adams would never know how hard it all sat with him. He’d spent his childhood in a series of foster homes after his real parents—both of them drug addicts—had gone to prison for holding up a liquor store to support their habit.
His last foster home had been the best—police Lieutenant Jim Westphal and his wife Ceil had loved him like their own son. From Jim, Quinn had caught the crime-fighting bug. He geared his whole life toward a career in law enforcement. He wanted, more than anything else, to be one of the good guys in the war on crime. As if only that could erase all the pain and humiliation his real parents had caused him.
And now, as if there were some kind of dark, blood destiny coursing through his veins, he, too, was officially a criminal. Certainly he would never hurt this woman whom he held against her will; violence, at least, was not in him. She had no idea that his gun was empty and he had no more bullets for it. Somehow it had been easier to bluff with an empty weapon—he could never have pointed a loaded gun at her.
But the thought was little consolation. With every mile they drove, he sank deeper and deeper into anguish. It just didn’t seem possible that fate could be so cruel—could in fact force him into the very role he’d fought his entire life to avoid.
Again he noticed her nervously check her watch. He opened his mouth to ask her about it again. But before he could speak, a telephone chirred, the sound muffled by her purse.
Someone was calling for her.
Chapter 4
The phone rang a second time, a third. With every ring, Constance could feel her body stiffen. The ache to grab it and scream for help was smothered by the fear of the gun in Loudon’s pocket. Every ring was torture.
It was Beth Ann, or someone else in her family, checking up on her as she’d requested. By now they would have already called her house, too. Obviously, Constance told herself, the only option was not to answer. That alone would set her family in motion trying to find her.
But she underestimated her captor’s shrewdness. He evidently didn’t trust her complacency.
“Answer it,” he ordered her.
At the same time he grabbed the steering wheel with one hand.
He spoke quickly. “I know you figure by now that I won’t shoot you. You’re right about that. But I swear by all things holy—you send even one hint to that caller, and I’ll dump both of us into that ditch